


a few alterations

by wearethewitches



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Excalibur, Gen, Magical Realism, Male-Female Friendship, Reincarnation, Vampires, the kid who would be king inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-28 07:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: Jasper meets a girl beside a lake. She's pretty normal - except for the sword at her belt that she just got from said lake.or,Jasper Whitlock meets Arthur Pendragon. She goes by Isabella, these days.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I watched 'The Kid Who Would Be King' and had Fanfic Thoughts; these are some of these thoughts and no, you don't need to have watched it to understand. I've got a lot of Twilight fics floating across my brain right now, though I don't know if this will be one I'll write notes for. We'll see.

There is a sword in a lake.

It is so obviously out of place, held up to the sun by a scaled grey hand that Jasper cannot ignore, green shining at its pommel. Wading into the lake to retrieve it is a woman, who doesn’t seem to care that her clothes are getting wet as she takes it from the hand.

Jasper had heard her calling out, before. But somehow, he hadn’t really considered that a ren faire enthusiast might _actually_ be able to call out for Excalibur like this woman clearly had. He stares at her, hearing her polite _thank-you, ma’am_ before she wades back to the grass. Miraculously, her clothes are dry when she exits, the water not even _there._ He can see far – see how the water doesn’t so much as evaporate, but _disappear._

“By all that is holy,” he murmurs, astonished. The woman pauses there, on the mulch by the lake, trees almost hiding her completely as she raises the blade up, kissing the steel. He can hear her say _hello, old friend_. Then, he is witness to her twirling it around in her hand, warming up her wrists before she steps into a clearly well-memorised dance, laughing when the pommel flashes. Her amusement is rife with fondness, projecting far because of its intensity.

Climbing down from the tree he’d been sitting in, Jasper runs closer, slowing to a walk as he gets in human range of hearing. A strange feeling sweeps through him, like he should turn back and see to Alice; she has a trip to Seattle planned with Esme and he should go with her.

_She didn’t ask me, though_, Jasper thinks, throwing off the strange compulsion as he walks closer, not expecting the woman to be staring at him when he appears in her view.

“How did you get here?” she asks, confusion radiating off of her. She looks to the sword in her grasp, but the green light has faded. Jasper can see the jewel this close – a plain, almost fake-looking quartz that doesn’t so much as shine in the sun, but suck it in, instead. “You shouldn’t be able to see this.”

“I have better eyesight than others, I’ll admit,” Jasper drawls, tilting his head. Her heart beats quick, her blood thumping through her veins; he can feel the ever-present burn of _thirst _sharpen acutely, but he ignores it. He has golden eyes that he sees in the mirror every time he looks – he will not lose that sight. Hopefully, he will never see his own eyes that vicious scarlet ever again.

The woman shakes her head, sheathing the sword – _Excalibur_, Jasper reminds himself – at her waist where an empty scabbard previously laid empty. “No,” she says, impressing upon the wrongness of his words. Her determination is fierce. “Freya doesn’t let anyone see. No human _could_.”

“Ah,” says Jasper, eyebrow quirking. “I see that this world of ours is more vast than I previously assumed. You look human.”

“You-” she starts, only to stop as she seemingly realises what shade his eyes are, noticing his unusually pale skin and lack of backpack; they are deep in the national park – even she has a bag of supplies, food and gas burner included. “You’re not human,” she realises.

“No,” he confirms, glad for once that secrecy is not needed, here. “May I inquire as to what – or _whom_, perhaps – you are?”

The woman stares at him. Jasper stares back.

She is not overly beautiful. Her large raincoat hides her figure and makes her seem like a stick in a bag, her legs shapely beneath her jeans, but short, as she is. She’s taller than Alice, though only by a few inches. Long, unbrushed brown hair is tucked behind her ears and her eyes match. Jasper would not look twice at her on a street, except maybe if she had her sword with her.

“My name is Arthur,” she says, voice clear and loud, “the Once and Future King.”

“How old are you?” Jasper queries. A smile grows on her face, until she’s grinning at him, eyes sparkling. Joy makes her seem younger. Much younger.

“Sixteen, this time around,” she – Arthur – says in a cheeky voice, clearly aiming to shock. Jasper only raises an eyebrow when she continues. “I used to be fifty-nine, before I died the first time. I’ve lived a couple of lives in between then and now. Some shorter than others – some longer. I got to a hundred and forty, once.”

“Impressive,” Jasper blinks rapidly, absorbing the information thrown at him so casually. “You’re older than me.”

“How old are you? Who are you?” Arthur asks him, stepping forwards, coming closer until they’re barely a metre apart. “_What _are you?”

Jasper can smell her, now. It is torture to his senses. He winces, gritting his teeth. “I’m a vampire, darling, born eighteen forty-four, apparently.”

“I’ve met your kind before,” Arthur says, quiet. Her grin fades into a frown. “I think I was murdered by one of yours, once. I was a child.”

“I don’t eat humans.”

“Explains the eyes. Magic shows itself in different ways, good and bad,” the reincarnated monarch says, almost to herself. “You never told me your name?”

“I highly doubt you told me yours,” Jasper replies in turn, tilting his head. “Or are you called _Arthur_ in every life?”

Arthur cracks a smile again, chagrin. “No,” she admits, holding out her hand. Jasper takes it smoothly. “Isabella. Isabella Marie.”

“Isabella Marie,” Jasper murmurs, raising her hand to his lips. She doesn’t act surprised, though Jasper is quick in his actions; her blood pounds in his ears, this close. Her wrist is a tantalising delicacy, her jacket sleeve sliding up to reveal more pale skin with a fading tan. “Major Whitlock. Jasper, to my friends.”

“Jasper,” she repeats, before stepping back. Her movement is clearly for him, empathy and apology blooming in her chest. She seems to know what effect she has on him. “Call me Arthur, when we’re alone. Around others, it’s Isabella.”

“Around others, I’m Jasper Hale,” he tells her, winking. He tries to push back the urge to kill her, to suck all the blood from her veins to stop the burning in his throat; he can’t stay very much longer, no matter how much he wishes to. “Perhaps I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll be in Forks for the foreseeable future,” she muses, lip twitching. Something is funny to her about that. She drawls, “Don’t be surprised if you find you have an _admirer_ of sorts, after this. They’ll stop watching, eventually.”

“I promise not to eat them,” Jasper only half-jokes, curious as to whom she’s referring to; his family won’t be happy if he suddenly has a stalker.

The burn flares and he tenses unwillingly, itching to hunt, to _kill_ and _feed._

“I have to go,” he says. He barely hears Arthur’s reply before he’s in the wind.

“_I’ll see you around, then, Major Whitlock._”


	2. Chapter 2

The group of teenagers Arthur finds herself hanging out with aren’t the ones she would have chosen, but it must be Destiny – she recognises a feeling hanging off the edges of the hour, only strengthening as she becomes _aware_ of the tug. It’s like a band, coiling tighter and tighter around their table as she sits amongst them, listening to Lauren go on about the various people in their year, telling her who to avoid and who to befriend.

“Hey.” Arthur can’t help but interrupt eventually, even though Destiny pokes at her like a child, telling her to _stop interrupting my moment, you’re already a year early._ It’s like a bad itch – though it’s one Arthur can and does ignore, often. Humanity is about having free will and she takes advantage of that liberally. “I know you’re trying to help, Lauren, but I like to make my own judgements about people. Your worst enemy can become the most loyal friend, I’ve found.”

Lauren Mallory, clearly the ‘popular kid’, looks half stricken and half furious. She whips her hair around, sniffing pointedly. “Well,” she says, just as an odd, quiet lull strikes the cafeteria. Arthur can hear footsteps behind her, heels clacking on the tiled floor. Lauren doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why don’t you go and find your _loyal friends_, then?” She sneers, neck arching so it seems like she looms over everyone, a king facing a peasant. A tyrant king, that is. Lauren finishes with a sharp, “They aren’t at _this_ table.”

If Arthur had been a normal teenager, unburdened by the thousands of lives she’s lived across the world, lying in wait for the day Morgana returned, then maybe Lauren’s words would have hurt more. As it is, Arthur glances backwards, Destiny tugging at her chin while the table – and seemingly half the cafeteria – absorbs Lauren’s cutting remark.

By the windows, where the cloudy sky stops the sun from shining down on them, Arthur sees five figures slide into empty seats around a table. It looks like it’s _theirs_, like they’ve claimed it and Arthur can’t help but smile as Jasper Whitlock looks her way in surprise.

“_Lauren,_” Jessica whispers from beside her, appalled. Her eyes flicker between Arthur and Lauren, a frown forming as she sees Arthur looking Jasper’s way. “Isabella? Are you alright?”

“Peachy, Jess,” says Arthur, before she stands up, grabbing her bag. Angela immediately frets, while Jessica stares at her, unusually silent. Arthur winks at Lauren, unfazed by her bitchy behaviour. Lauren actually wilts, confused by her attitude and lost as Arthur tugs at her jumper. “You’re not the only ones I know at Forks High, Mallory.”

“What-” Lauren starts, before Arthur turns on her heel – balancing carefully, oh so carefully, because in this life her centre of balance is horrific, making practice with Excalibur doubly tricky – and makes her way in a straight line towards Jasper.

He stands slowly, rubbing his hands together as his companions frown and look between them, whispering to each other in befuddlement. Jasper and Arthur have not met since that day at the lake, but Arthur knows how she feels when she looks at him. There is a shimmer to the world when she looks at him, like every time she knighted those of her Round Table; he is a warrior, who embodies the code Arthur lives by, every day.

_Refrain from Wanton Offence_, she thinks, reciting the Chivalric Code line by line. _Speak the Truth at All Times. Persevere in Any Enterprise Until the End. Honour Those You Love._

Every step closer to Jasper is another whisper through the cafeteria. He is a vampire, she knows – he told her himself. Arthur wonders if they will meet in her next life, if he will still be around then, or if she’ll have forgotten him; she may remember her lives, but the magic that brings her back each time thinks _other_ magic to be foul. Vampires are borne of hemomancy – who knows whether or not Arthur will recall that one of her knights were stolen by the Cold Ones?

“Jasper,” Arthur greets him when they’re within touching distance. She can see how he mimics breathing. “Nice to see you again.”

At his back, Jasper’s family are staring at her. A girl of Chinese descent who had been sitting behind him with short, spiky hair and perfect eyeliner reaches up, tugging at his bare wrist.

“Jas, who’s this? You’ve never mentioned her before,” she says, voice strangely urgent. Arthur peers at her golden eyes, _feeling_ something as she goes still. Her next words are quiet. “I can’t see you.”

An owl flies into the room. As per usual, its flight is choppy and a whirlwind of loose feathers.

“As you should not,” comes a familiar voice, mere moments later.

Arthur turns with a sigh, hearing the startled exclamations from the people who were watching them. Merlin, so young, barely older than her in body, is giving the small vampire the stink-eye.

“My Liege is not yours to watch, Seer,” proclaims her oldest of friends, crossing his arms over his chest. Arthur bats at his elbow, unafraid of the immortal wizard – indeed, she’s disapproving at the moment.

“Leave her alone, Em,” Arthur orders. Merlin glances at her disapprovingly.

“Your future is your own and not to be trifled with. Should Morgana sense that the fabric of time is being plucked, she shall wonder _why_.”

“Morgana isn’t awake yet,” denies the King, acutely aware of where they are; Merlin never has had a good sense of _appropriate_. “And I’m at school. Meet with me later – and make everyone forget this happened.”

Merlin huffs. He turns to face the student body, arms smacking in the familiar cadence of a forgetting enchantment. Arthur immediately reaches for Jasper, other hand reaching out to the girl who can See the future.

“Hold onto each other,” she orders, watching the vampires reach for each other, forming a half-moon as Merlin draws magical energy from all around.

“You should let them power my spell,” he says, at a natural pause in his casting. “They’re not safe.”

Warning blares in her head. Destiny hisses right in her ear. _They are not his to touch!_

“Destiny wouldn’t like that,” Arthur replies, lightly enough that Merlin nearly stops casting. But he doesn’t, _forgetting_ falling across the dining student population. When the spell ends, Arthur lets go of the Seer, but she does not let go of Jasper, watching him take in the brief expressions of puzzlement across their peers’ faces.

“Strange,” he says, before sitting down again. He draws her closer, wiggling his eyebrows. Arthur lets out a small burst of laughter before dramatically seating herself across his lap, mimicking his expression.

“What was that?” The copper-haired vampire demands, staring at her with an alarming sort of intensity. Jasper’s arm wraps around her waist and it is quite comfortable, compared to some places Arthur has sat. Her throne comes to mind.

“I’ll explain another time. Jasper and I met a short while ago.”

“It was quite the experience,” he adds. Arthur flashes a smile at him, but it is short-lived; the copper-haired vampire hisses abruptly, eyes turning black.

_Uh-oh._

_This is Fate,_ Destiny cackles.

“You need to leave.”

“No – I think you do,” Arthur denies, staring at him. “What’s your name?”

“That’s Edward,” Jasper says, wincing. “And he does need to leave, darlin’, you’re perfectly right.”

‘Edward’ shoves his chair back hard, a sharp screech echoing through the cafeteria as he turns rapidly and leaves at a human pace, shoulders hard. The further away he gets, the softer Jasper’s grip around her waist becomes; Arthur hadn’t even realised it was so tight.

“You’re his singer,” the short girl – the _Seer _– whispers apologetically.

Arthur quirks an eyebrow. “Singer?”

“We’re vegetarian vampires, which encourages an acute control over our bloodlust in human spaces.” Jasper describes quietly. “But singers are different. Singers are irresistible.”

“Huh,” Arthur ponders that, before reaching out with her foot to bring Edward’s chair closer. Slipping off of Jasper’s lap, she faces the rest of the table, waving at them all. The Seer peers at her in a cautious manner, waving back slowly, while the big, jock-like black teenwith shoulders like a bear grins at her.

“Emmett – Emmett Cullen.” He offers a hand across the table and Arthur takes it immediately, shaking.

“Arthur,” she introduces herself under her breath, eyes glimmering, “though nowadays, it’s Isabella Marie Swan. Isabella, mostly. Though, seeing as I’ve given _Jas_ here permission to call me Arthur-” she sends him a cheeky smile “-I might as well let you, too.”

“She’s older than Carlisle by many, _many_ years,” Jasper says quickly, sending a slight warning look to the last of their group: a picture-perfect blonde, with hair curled just short of her chin, pinned back with what looks to be a real silver and diamond pin. She looks at Arthur with an almost hostile expression, up until Jasper’s comment, when startled surprise takes its place.

“Excuse me?”

“I have no idea who Carlisle is,” notes Arthur cheerfully, tilting her head and waiting for elaboration. Emmett nods shortly.

“Carlisle’s our dad. Adopted dad. Foster dad. Whatever suits the locale best.”

“Neat.”

“How old _are_ you?” The blonde asks Arthur, golden eyes a different shade to Jasper’s or even Emmett’s – clear, like the inside of a lemon rather than the burnished honey-colour of her fellows.

Arthur wonders how to answer her. She could say, _just sixteen_, or she could give her varied ages from past lives, implying a heck of a lot of time. But the school bell rings, saving her from speaking. Jasper stands up, offering her a hand.

“Don’t let Rosalie bother you,” he says, before motioning to the Seer. “And this is Alice. It was nice seeing you again, Arthur. Come sit with us, sometimes.”

“Sure, Major,” says Arthur, flinging her arms around his neck. She feels his stone body beneath her, hears how he doesn’t breathe – and she remembers that comment about _control_. She’s waving a red flag at a bull.

Loosening her grip, Arthur reaches up to tap his nose, not meaning to smile when she sees his eyes following her finger. Jasper’s cross-eyed expression is just…

“Adorable,” Arthur sighs fondly, hoping she won’t forget him, the next time she dies. “I hope I get to keep you.

He meets her gaze, questioning, but Arthur slips away with a wave.

“I’ve got class – I’ll see you around, though!”

And of course, she’s walking backwards and not paying attention to her feet. The inevitable happens and she trips over a table, tangling her legs and banging her head as she falls onto her backside. Dazed, with a suddenly-throbbing head, Arthur barely blinks twice before Jasper is at her side again, grinning.

“I hope you aren’t that clumsy with your sword, Your Majesty.”

“It’s a work in progress,” she says, feeling nauseous.

Jasper looks like he feels every one of her emotions, a sick expression melting onto his face. He grimaces.

“Nurse’s office?” he asks.

Arthur nods.

“Nurse’s office.”


End file.
